


as long as stars are above you

by Schlafwandeln



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hoshinamida Disease, Kinda, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Songfic, Unrequited Love, ck is so thick, hw is a precious baby that needs Love, i made hw so so sad, im sorry baby, not his ass, star tear disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schlafwandeln/pseuds/Schlafwandeln
Summary: In which Hyungwon collects his liquid stars in jars, unbeknownst to Changkyun.Alternatively: Changkyun is so oblivious that it makes Hyungwon cry.Rated M for discussions about mature topics, semi dub-con, and expletives.-----It is known that when someone expresses unrequited love to another person, they cry tears made of stars. These tears slowly degrade the function of their cone cells — for the stars that the sufferer cries out are so saturated with color, and so the most common symptom of 星涙病, or the hoshinamida disease, is achromatopsia, or total color blindness.Hyungwon sheds his first star tear at fourteen, and it is beautiful as much as it is painful.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Im Changkyun | I.M
Comments: 16
Kudos: 93





	as long as stars are above you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiro_cchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiro_cchi/gifts).



> **TW: mentions of suicide and death.**
> 
> For joc, again. Thanks for reading all my thingies, good or bad kkk.
> 
> Based on [an AU posted on twitter](https://twitter.com/rchimedesu/status/1246209686682185730) by [@rchimedesu](https://twitter.com/rchimedesu).
> 
> The song in this work is [How Long Will I Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=an4ySOlsUMY), originally sung by The Waterboys in 1990, but then covered by Ellie Goulding in 2013. The one linked here is the cover. I recommend listening to the song before/after/while you read! ^v^
> 
> Also, the usual. Not beta-ed. No profit. MX not mine.
> 
> Enjoy!

The human eye has two different photoreceptors: cone cells, and rod cells. Rod cells, or simply rods, are more sensitive in lower light levels, and they have little role in color vision. The cone cells, or cones, are responsible for our ability to see colors. There are three types of cone cells, each responsible for the colors blue, green, and red. 

It is known that when someone expresses unrequited love to another person, they cry tears made of stars. These tears slowly degrade the function of their cone cells — for the stars that the sufferer cries out are so saturated with color, and so the most common symptom of 星涙病, or the hoshinamida disease, is achromatopsia, or total color blindness.

Stress caused by external pressure, for example extreme emotional duress, is known to catalyze the loss of color vision. In severe cases, the sufferer may also experience the degradation of rod cells as well, resulting in partial or complete blindness. There is currently no known cure for this disease, though a considerable amount of research is going into it.

Hyungwon sheds his first star tear at fourteen, and it is beautiful as much as it is painful.

~*~*~

They’re two children, running around an untamed field, laughs echoing in the air as they cheerfully play a game of tag. They’re two boys — innocence protected by the shield that is childhood ignorance. It’s free, it’s fun. 

It’s temporary. 

Their eyes are bright: one light brown to accompany his pale blond hair, the other midnight black to pair with his brunet strands. Their clothes billow in the wind as they whizz past — their cream colored shoes are splattered with mud, but their minds are preoccupied with catching the other boy, so they pay little to no attention to that. 

“Catch me if you can, Wonnie!”

“Hah, I’m so close! Just you wait!”

Later, they would go back to the little abandoned shack they’ve dubbed their ‘secret hideout’. The blond would sigh in mock defeat as the brunet laughs loudly, boasting of his speed. The blond would not tell the brunet that he purposefully lost — hearing that melodious giggle is much more satisfying, to him, anyway. 

And then as the sun sets in the distance — a magnificent blend of oranges, yellows and purples — the blond stares and stares at the sky, watching as seagulls fly past. He wonders what it feels like to fly; to have wings that can take you anywhere, anytime. 

Yes, childhood. The blissful ignorance — where the only problem in the world is not knowing what it feels like to fly. 

_It’s free, it’s fun, it’s temporary._

**

“How do I know if I love someone, Hyungie? Tell me, tell me!”

“Er... You just feel it, I guess.”

Changkyun puts his small hand against his chin, pretending to think. 

“Ah, then, listen, Hyungie, listen!”

Hyungwon smiles as he hums inquiringly. 

"I lo-oo-ve you, Hyungie!”

Hyungwon smiles, ruffles Changkyun’s hair, the latter giggling and playfully pushing Hyungwon’s hand away. 

“I love you too, Kkukkung.”

Changkyun laughs with delight.

~*~*~

He’s thirteen when his fall begins — Changkyun is eleven.

In the privacy of their make-shift tent, which is just a big bedsheet that’s tied to the tops of Chankyun’s bedposts and taped to the wall opposite, Changkyun asks Hyungwon what his favorite color is.

“Black, I think,” he says, smiling tenderly. 

Changkyun gasps as if he’s said something sacreligious, whining, “but black is so boring, Hyungie! It’s dark — darkness is scary…”

Hyungwon hums, considering the words.

“But black can be beautiful too,” he says, gesturing with his right hand to further prove his point. “The night sky is black… without the darkness, you wouldn’t be able to appreciate the stars, would you?”

Changkyun has a conflicted expression on. His eyebrows are furrowed, as if thinking very deeply, before he finally relents and lets out a relaxed laugh.

“I guess you’re right, Hyung,” he says, settling his head on Hyungwon’s thigh.

He doesn’t mention the fact that Changkyun’s eyes are the deepest black — so deep Hyungwon can probably swim in them, or how, sometimes, when the light is angled just right, they would shine; just like stars against the night sky.

“I wish you could collect the stars,” Changkyun says, starting to sound a little drowsy.

Hyungwon huffs out a breath as he laughs, “I would have a collection, just for you.”

But Changkyun is already asleep against his thigh.

**

“Shh, don’t cry, Kkukkungie…”

Changkyun sobs against his shoulder anyway. 

“B-but my bike! I-I broke it…”

“You can always buy a new one.”

“Y-yes, b-but Eomma will be s-so mad…”

Hyungwon hugs Changkyun tighter against himself. 

“Crying will not fix anything, Kyunnie.”

Changkyun nods, and his cries eventually subside into gentle sobs. 

Changkyun gets a shiny new bike the next day, his eyes still puffy, but his grin twice as wide as usual. 

~*~*~

> _How long will I love you_   
>  _As long as stars are above you_   
>  _And longer if I can_

It first happens when Hyungwon turns fourteen.

Honestly, he doesn’t really know how it happened — one moment he’s looking at Changkyun, whose back is illuminated by the big windows of the school cafeteria, who is smiling fondly, and then he feels this sudden pricking sense behind his eyelids.

Hyungwon swipes his hand over his eyes, attempting to dislodge whatever particulate is stuck, only to have his hand covered with a smothering of what looked like…

Stars. Constellations, floating in a little pool of liquid against the skin of his hand.

Hyungwon scurries off to the male’s restroom, quickly blurting out an excuse to Changkyun, who looks at him strangely.

The restroom, thank the heavens, is blissfully empty. Hyungwon perches himself on the sink, rolls up the sleeves of his school uniform, and washes his face.

And then, like a bizarre meteor shower, the white stars fell from his eyes into the sink’s drainage. 

What the fuck.

He shuts off the running water, stares at his reflection in silence for a moment, and then his ears catch a little sound — like the jingle of the world’s tiniest bells, like little pieces of broken glass falling onto a marble floor.

Like falling stars.

Hyungwon curses.

Because it wasn’t meant to be like this. Because he’s so firmly told himself that no, he isn’t attracted to men, and that no, he isn’t in love with his best friend. None of that is true. It has become a mantra in his head, sort of like a life motto.

And yet here he is, catching one of the world’s rarest diseases because of a stupid crush.

_You’re so pathetic._

Hyungwon wills himself to stop crying. He thinks of happy memories: of him finally saving enough money get himself a bike, of him taking the bike outside for the very first time, of him meeting Changkyun for the first time, of Changkyun’s face when the sun falls just at the right angle to make his eyes these endless pools of stars—

_Fuck._

His tears continue; a steady stream of twinkling in the empty male’s bathroom.

**

“I asked you what your favorite color is when we were little.”

“I remember, yes.”

“You said black.”

Hyungwon hums. His eyes are starting to sting, but he’s quite used to it at this point.

“Has that changed?”

Hyungwon looks up. Into endless black eyes behind brunet fringes. His eyes are on fire.

“No.” _and it never will._

A pause. Changkyun takes a bite of his sandwich.

“Mine’s white.”

“Mm?”

“My favorite color.”

Hyungwon hums in acknowledgement. He tries to not think of the countless white stars he’s flushed down the drain, of the various tissues in his bin laced with pristine white stars.

Of how, eventually, all he’d be able to see are his and Changkyun’s favorite colors.

~*~*~

> _How long will I need you_   
>  _As long as the seasons need to_   
>  _Follow their plan_

Hyungwon quickly finds that each time he so much as _breathes_ with the slightest thought of Changkyun, the tears would come, the same amount, no matter how subtle the thought is. 

And it fucking hurt. Of course it does. His tear ducts are just barely big enough to dispel the damn things. Sometimes, he has to wash his face with cold water just to assuage some of the burning pain. When he comes to school with puffy, red eyes, Changkyun looks at him and asks if he is alright.

Hyungwon almost laughs at the irony. Almost.

Hyungwon also finds that if he willed hard enough, he could stop them from falling, although doing this hurts twice more than what it would if he just let them fall. However, he knows there is no way he could cry in front of Changkyun — the smart-ass would figure it out in a matter of seconds. This newly-acquired skill is especially useful around Changkyun, because each time Hyungwon so much as glances towards him, Changkyun smiles, tilting his head questioningly, and hums.

Oh god, it hurts. Hyungwon smiles back, making a significant effort to make it not come out as a grimace, and says, “nothing.”

Soon, Hyungwon worries about the school’s plumbing, because he must have flushed what seems like a million stars into the school’s pipes. Do the stars clog the drainage system? Do they disappear after a while? Why does he care so much about the school? Whatever.

At night, when he lays awake and tries his best to not think of Changkyun, Hyungwon would stare at the night sky through his bedroom window. He would think about his childhood — lying on an endless green field, white shirt ruined with various grass stains, minds free of any problems.

See, that is a problem, because then Hyungwon would also think about the body pressed against his arm next to him. He would think of the other voice that so often accompanies his own’s. He would think of midnight black eyes and midnight black skies. 

And then Hyungwon would hear the twinkles before he even realizes that he is thinking of Changkyun.

And it fucking hurts, because he can’t even live through his happiest memories without it hurting, damn it.

**

“Have you ever fallen in love, Hyung?”

Hyungwon freezes.

“N-no,” he says — _lies_. “Why do you ask?”

Changkyun hums thoughtfully.

“Nothing...”

Hyungwon wills his heart to beat slower. Focuses all his energy into not crying.

“I just,” Changkyun begins. “I just want to know what it feels like.”

“Mm.” _Consuming. Dizzying. Painful._

Changkyun sighs, as if not loving someone is the greatest burden of this world.

~*~*~

> _How long will I be with you_   
>  _As long as the sea is bound to_   
>  _Wash up on the sand_

He starts collecting them in jars.

As he cries, he puts a jar underneath his chin, and he lets the tears run down, resisting the urge to soothe his eyes with cold water. Hyungwon would think about Changkyun’s relaxed features when he slept, about the way he perks up and yells _‘Hyung!’_ when he’s excited, about his concerned eyes when Hyungwon comes to the lunch table late after a particularly bad session of crying.

Oh, and his tears are unending.

For once, since his parents’ death from the notorious Flight KR-541 crash, Hyungwon is glad that he lives alone — he wouldn’t be able to explain the noise to anyone else. Each night, his room becomes a cacophony of small bells, an orchestra of fallen shattered glass. Sometimes they get so repetitive and annoying that Hyungwon stuffs several wads of cotton into his ears as he cries, so as to not be disturbed by the noise.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Because as he sleeps, Hyungwon is haunted by the twinkling. He’s nearly asleep, floating in that barrier between wakefulness and deep slumber, and then suddenly, in the next moment he is drowning in a sea of glinting white stars. He kicks his legs, moves his arms, and just when he sees the surface more liquid stars fall on him and he’s running out of energy, of oxygen, Hyungwon is choking on stars — he is suffocating—

He wakes up, palms sweaty, pillow littered with white stars. 

He punches the wall adjacent.

_Fuck it all._

**

“I remember asking you to collect stars for me.”

Hyungwon laughs, hoping it doesn’t come out forced.

“You were always asking me for impossible things.”

“You said you’d have a collection,” Changkyun says, smiling fondly at the nostalgia, “just for me.”

_So you were awake._

Hyungwon can _almost_ hear the stars in his jars at home twinkle.

He smiles, eats a spoonful of porridge that rather tastes like wallpaper paste, and swallows.

“I would,” he says. “If it was possible, I would.”

Changkyun laughs as he finishes his juice.

“You’re ridiculous.”

_If only you knew._

“Quite.”

~*~*~

> _How long will I want you_   
>  _As long as you want me to_   
>  _And longer by far_

At sixteen, Hyungwon loses green. 

Of course Hyungwon loses green first, he thinks bitterly. Of course it would be green — the color they’ve been surrounded by their entire lives: the green plains they’ve played tag in, the grass they lied on when they stargazed, the chipped paint of Changkyun’s old bicycle. 

It’s such a jarring change. Suddenly, the field wherein they play soccer after school isn’t vibrant anymore, every expanse of grass is just a bland yellow-brown. The vegetables on his meal tray are no longer appetizing — Hyungwon sets them aside on a paper towel that he has placed on the lunch table. Changkyun looks at him oddly.

“What’s wrong with spinach?” He asks.

Hyungwon tries for a smile, “not my thing.”

“Bullshit. You’ve always finished your vegetables, Hyung.”

Of course Changkyun would know. Of course — he’d been with Hyungwon his whole life, how can he not know? God dammit, their relationship is so close to what Hyungwon wants and yet so far. Hyungwon wants to scream with frustration, he wants to curse the gods for what is happening to him.

But how could he, when most of it is his fault?

“Eh. Not in the mood.”

Hyungwon ducks his gaze to stare at the rice in his metal bowl. He can’t see, but he can feel Changkyun’s worried gaze on him. The suppressing of his tears is like second nature to him now. He doesn’t even need to try.

_Stop staring, damn it. Stop worrying. It only makes this more painful._

And then, as if all the gods in this universe are against him, he feels a hand card through his hair.

“You have to eat, Hyung,” Changkyun says, voice devastatingly soft. “You can’t play football with me if you get sick.”

Oh, his eyes are burning. They are on fire. Hyungwon slaps Changkyun’s hand away with more force than intended and he runs, runs, runs, bumping into several shoulders but not caring, rousing several _‘hey, watch it’_ s but not apologizing. Hyungwon rushes to the male’s toilet, ignoring the pointed looks he gets from the several occupants of the bathroom as he roughly pushes open the door. Hyungwon walks mechanical steps into the restroom, picks an empty stall, locks himself in.

And cries.

He ignores the sound. He pays no mind to the sound of his stars as they hit the porcelain of the toilet bowl. Hyungwon weeps, because the feeling of Changkyun’s fingertips on his scalp is the best thing he’s felt in a while and yet here he is, crying tears made of one of the most beautiful substances known to man.

_You’re so pathetic._

He knows the occupants of the toilet are able to hear him cry, but god dammit, it’s too painful to hold it in this time. Hyungwon doesn’t care. Hyungwon doesn’t care about the snickering that must be happening on the other side of the door of this bathroom stall. He doesn’t care about Changkyun ruffling his hair. Doesn’t care about Changkyun.

And Hyungwon definitely doesn’t care about the way he lies to himself.

**

They’re on a bridge that overlooks the sun as it sets. Changkyun rests his elbows on the wooden railings of the bridge, his hair mussed by the wind. Hyungwon looks at the seagulls, and a sudden thought occurs to him.

“Do you sometimes wish to fly?”

Changkyun hums, “not really, no. I mean we have airplanes and all that.”

Hyungwon is silent as he idly stares at the rushing water beneath them.

“Why, do you?” Changkyun asks, after a moment.

“Yeah.”

“Then book a ticket.”

“No,” Hyungwon says, shaking his head. “I want to fly on wings.”

Changkyun laughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re ridiculous.”

And though a knife is stabbing at the back of his eyes, Hyungwon smiles.

“Quite.”

~*~*~

> _How long will I hold you_   
>  _As long as your father told you_   
>  _As long as you can_

At eighteen, Hyungwon has eighteen jars of stars in his closet.

It’s a wonder that Changkyun hasn’t opened his closet each time he visits. Hyungwon feels his heart jump to his throat whenever Changkyun gets too close to the sliding door that guards his jars, only to have him move away the next second. His control has also improved, though he suspects this is because he forces himself to cry each night, just so that there would be less tears during the day.

One day, Changkyun texts him at two a.m. to ask if he could come over.

Changkyun never texts to ask. He just crashes, whenever he wants, into Hyungwon’s room in the dinky boarding house, so to have him text is very, very unusual.

Hyungwon wipes his eyes, cools them with ice, seals his jar, closes the sliding door of his closet, and then finally replies to Changkyun’s text three minutes later with a ‘go ahead’.

Ten minutes later, the familiar pattern of Changkyun’s footsteps thuds against the wooden floorboards of the corridor just in front of his room. Changkyun comes in, looking rather pale, and sits cross-legged on the floor of his room, wearing a fairly thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants.

“What’s up?” Hyungwon asks worriedly, already feeling that familiar prickle behind his eyes.

_Hold it in. Do not reveal it now, after hiding it for so long._

And then, as if the axis of the earth spun alarmingly fast so as to flip every human being’s emotions one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, Changkyun’s face lights up with a grin so wide it breaks Hyungwon’s balance a little.

“Hyung,” he says, “I-I lost my virginity.”

Hyungwon blinks, replays the sentence in his head thrice just to make sure he understands it properly, and then a fourth time just for good measure.

And he smiles. But oh, his eyes are ever so painful with the effort of holding his stars in.

_Hold it in._

“H-how was it?” he manages.

Changkyun mulls over the question in his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, as if Hyungwon’s question is a complex Physics formula that he has to derive. Finally, after many painful seconds, Changkyun answers.

“It’s- it’s so good,” Changkyun says, with what sounds like awe. “Man, she was amazing. I haven’t felt anything like it. It was fast and hard and _good_.”

Hyungwon is still smiling widely, so wide that his face hurts the slightest bit. 

“Th-that’s good, Kyun,” he says, hoping to whichever god is still on his side that his voice does not waiver. “I’m- I’m glad for you.”

Oh god, his eyes; they ignite with the flames of jealousy that emerge from his heart.

_Hold it._

“Do you regret it?” Hyungwon asks, though at this point he’s just torturing himself because he already knows the answer, even if his brain chants for Changkyun to say _yes, I regret every single moment of it. Yes, because I want it to be you. Yes, yes, yes—_

“No,” Changkyun says. “No, I liked it.”

Changkyun smiles at him — he looks so fucking happy. Hyungwon should be happy, too, but how can he, when his gut churns with the thought of someone else being with Changkyun? How can he, when his heart thuds ever so erratically when he thinks of how it would feel like if he were the one instead? Hyungwon tries his hardest to smile back, to ignore the insistent pain behind his eyelids.

“I think I know now,” Changkyun says.

“Hmm?”

Changkyun’s deep, deep eyes make contact with his, and once more Hyungwon drowns in them.

“What it feels like to be in love.”

Later, Hyungwon cries to the thought of hands that are not his own on Changkyun’s skin. Of Changkyun’s exploratory fingertips on someone else. Of Changkyun’s most vulnerable moments, shared with someone else that is not him and will never be him.

And at eighteen, Hyungwon loses blue. The color of the sky, of the seas, and of the veins that carry the very blood that keeps his heartbeats going; keeps him alive.

**

“When you die, do you want to be cremated or buried?”

Hyungwon startles.

“Wh-what are you asking?”

“Just curious. I’d like to be buried, I think.”

Hyungwon gives it some thought.

“I’d prefer cremation.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

Hyungwon looks at the monochrome waves below them, no longer the right color.

“And then, I want my ashes spread in the ocean.”

That day, Hyungwon dreams of the feeling of waves lapping at his skin.

~*~*~

> _How long will I give to you_   
>  _As long as I live through you_   
>  _However long you say_

Twenty-year-old Hyungwon thinks that Christmas is a weird feat, because within the red and green decorations all Hyungwon can see is red, and then a weird, muddy brown color that is so uncomplimentary to the red that it makes him dizzy.

However, Hyungwon likes red.

It’s the color of poppies, of roses, of Changkyun’s cheeks when he flushes.

But of course, that is a problem, because most of the time Changkyun flushes only when he is near Jihyeon. 

Jihyeon is a nice girl, Hyungwon thinks. Just a little shorter than Changkyun. Eyelashes that bat each time she speaks to Changkyun. Dainty hands, manicured, so unlike his own long, calloused fingers. Shoulders the perfect width to put one’s arms around, unlike his own broad ones. Hair a wavy black; so far from Hyungwon’s blond strands.

God dammit.

Another problem is that when Hyungwon observes, he notices every single minute detail.

He notices Changkyun’s fond smile, that he used to only give to Hyungwon, being so carelessly handed to her. He notices Changkyun’s large palms on the small of her back. Her hands on his chest; her lips on his cheek; his lips on hers.

Hyungwon runs to the bathroom. He vomits.

He cleans his mouth thoroughly, turns on Changkyun’s shower, faucet, anything that will make any loud noise, and cries.

And as the stars painfully flow from his eyes, he thinks of the future. 

This isn’t even the worst it’s going to get. Hyungwon is going to have to watch Changkyun get married. He’s going to watch as Changkyun waits for his partner to walk down the aisle. He is going to have to watch as they give their vows, each syllable likely stabbing his heart like a harpoon, because those vows that he helped make are not for him, not for him, because though he loves Changkyun with all of his being, Changkyun will never love him back.

Later, he would have to watch Changkyun’s face light up as he and his partner expect a child. He would have the privilege of choosing the baby’s name from several options, and Hyungwon would have to smile through that all, pretending that he is fine, pretending that his world is still so full of color when in reality it is the depressing black and white of old, silent films. 

Hyungwon whimpers. The white stars keep falling off his chin in a continuous stream, like a fountain of stars. The sound of falling stars is getting louder, but Hyungwon sincerely hopes that all the running taps in this bathroom will conceal it from the outsid—

“Hyung?”

Oh fuck, _no_.

“Hyungie?” Changkyun asks, and Hyungwon’s heart briefly seizes because he hasn’t heard that nickname in so, so long. “Are you alright? Why are so many taps running?”

“I-I’m fine,” he tries, though his voice comes out in gasps. “J-just a bad stomach ache.”

“Are you sure? We have antacid tablets— is that— is that broken glass?”

_Shit. Shit. No._

“N-no. That’s just the shampoo bottle fall—”

“Hyung, what the hell are you doing in there?”

_Please. Gods, deities, anyone._

“I’m re-really fine!”

The sound of a spare key. “I’m coming in.”

And then Changkyun is inside the bathroom, Hyungwon looking at him with red-rimmed eyes and star-streaked cheeks. Time seems to stop, just momentarily, and several emotions flit through Changkyun’s face as he processes the situation he’s in and then finally Hyungwon finds himself being enveloped in a pair of strong arms, strong arms that he’d wished for his whole life, exactly like this but so far away from this at the same time.

_God, help me._

“I—”

“Who is it?” Is what Changkyun asks.

Hyungwon’s world shatters into a thousand shades of grey. 

“N-no, _please—_ ”

“Who the fuck is it?”

The red cup on Changkyun’s sink flashes it’s color, before turning into a dark shade of grey. His skin loses all it’s blood. Changkyun’s cheeks, so close to his face, is a dull grey. Everything is monochrome. There is no more color in this world. Hyungwon is so, so terrified.

“I-I—”

Changkyun’s hug tightens and Hyungwon feels like he is going to asphyxiate from it, from all these emotions, from the lack of color in his world. Oh, Changkyun smells how Hyungwon has always imagined him to smell: lavender cologne, old books, plain open fields—

And yet he is still not his.

He wenches himself free from the hug. Wipes his eyes though he knows the tears will fall anyway. Hyungwon turns off all the taps, wipes his hands on his shorts, and faces Changkyun, who is waiting for his answer eagerly.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you.”

Changkyun furrows his brows.

“Why not?”

Hyungwon looks away, unable to maintain eye contact.

“B-because—” _because it’s you. It’s always been you._

He inhales. “Because I don’t know who it is.”

Changkyun looks at him with disbelief.

“That isn’t possible.”

“It is.” _no, it isn’t._

Changkyun looks at him, still a hint of disbelief in his eyes, but then he softens, steps forward, and hugs Hyungwon once more. It takes a conscious, physical effort for him to not push Changkyun away, because as much as Hyungwon likes the feeling of his toned arms on his waist, this is not what he wants. This is so far from what he wants.

“Okay,” Changkyun says, his voice so protective that all Hyungwon wants to do is to grab his face in between his palms and scream what he’s been hiding all this time so loudly that the whole world hears. “Okay.”

A hand travels up his back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, and oh, his eyes are aflame again. 

“Please tell me, if there’s anything I can do.”

Oh god, his heart is now just a pile of pulverized cells.

“Yeah,” he sighs, allowing himself to rest his forehead on Changkyun’s shoulder. “Yeah, all right.”

Hyungwon cherishes the feeling of Changkyun’s chest against his. The hand still idly ruffling his hair. The other hand around his waist. Because although this isn’t what he wants, Hyungwon will take this over nothing.

Ironic, he thinks, how he is currently experiencing the recurring fantasy from his dreams, but the exact opposite of it at the same time.

**

“Being in a relationship is hard.”

“Yeah?” _I wouldn’t know._

“It’s like you never know what they want.”

Hyungwon hums.

“The fairytales talk about The Spark,” Hyungwon says.

“Hmm?”

“They say that if you’re compatible you’ll feel a strange attractive force, like a spark.”

Changkyun pauses. “I don’t feel that.”

Hyungwon doesn’t look at Changkyun, chooses to watch the water slosh under the bridge.

“Then, perhaps,” he says, “you haven’t found them yet.”

Above, a seagull caws.

~*~*~

> _How long will I love you_   
>  _As long as stars are above you_   
>  _And longer if I may_

_**[21:17] Im Changkyun:** anw, im going over 2 jihyeon's_   
_**[21:18] Im Changkyun:** enjoy ur night, hyungie~_   
_**[21:22] Chae Hyungwon:** stay safe _   
_**[21:22] Chae Hyungwon:** enjoy your night as well _

**

Jealousy burns you from the inside out. It eats away at your rationality, convincing you that whatever action you do is going to alleviate the pain that it brings. It’s an ugly, ugly thing, and Hyungwon wishes he did not have the capability to experience jealousy.

But Hyungwon is only human.

Being jealous can make you do many illogical things.

Which is how he finds himself in a bar, in the middle of the night, desperately trying not to think of Changkyun — of his body, now probably undressed in Jihyeon’s bed. Of her hands touching what is his, drawing out the sounds that only he was meant to hear—

No. No. Hyungwon is in a bar and he will enjoy himself.

He’s sat on a barstool, nursing a cocktail of his own, and someone makes eye contact with him from across the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor. Close-cropped hair, bright eyes, a smirk that makes heat pool in his guts. A great company for the night, probably, if Hyungwon manages to catch him. He sets down his empty glass, dabs at his lips with the back of his hand and stands. 

He’s older than him — fresh out of college. His eyelashes bat as he speaks to Hyungwon and it reminds him of Changkyun when he pouts — no, Hyungwon is not going there; his eyes are starting to burn, but he holds it in. His waist is small, his shoulders broad to balance it, and a myriad of images flood his brain. 

Hmm, Hyungwon’s hands on his hips, his lips on Hyungwon’s neck, his mouth around his cock. What would it feel like, to have someone touch him? What would it feel like, to have someone fill him?

God, Hyungwon is so, so drunk. 

Of course, Hyungwon knows he has the looks. The guy knows, too, evident from how he stands — so close, too close — and the way he looks up at Hyungwon under his eyelashes. Hyungwon smiles, and he has no idea if it’s genuine — too busy trying to keep himself steady as his vision swims. 

Hyungwon leans in, then, so close that Hyungwon is certain the stranger can feel his breath near his earlobe.

“Take me,” Hyungwon says, and the guy growls deep in his throat. 

They stumble their way into the male’s restroom, Hyungwon’s mouth occupied by an intoxicating kiss that steals a majority of his oxygen. Inside, the tiles are yellowed and the ceilings are murky. It smells like sweat, piss, and sex. Hyungwon plunges his tongue in his mouth like there is no tomorrow, and he moans into the kiss like the stranger he’s just met in the club is a genuine mirage in the middle of a dry desert. 

His calloused palms travel down Hyungwon’s shoulder, and then up to the first button on his crisp shirt. They smartly unbutton each one, and the cold air of the club restroom hits his chest. Hyungwon shivers — he runs his lips down the stranger’s neck, leaving a trail of kisses as the mouth above him gasps with it. 

Hyungwon’s hands start their own explorations of his torso. He swipes his hand over a hardened nipple, earning a groan from above him. He finds the trail of hair that leads to his prize, and as he runs the ends of his long, long fingertips against the hardness in the man’s trousers, he groans. 

“God, what is a beauty like you doing in a pisshole like this, sweetheart?”

And then Hyungwon looks up. Finds the man’s eyes. It’s a light color; not the midnight black he wants. Where Changkyun’s fond expression would be, he finds a lust-filled gaze. Where Changkyun’s light strands would be he finds jet black hair, parted on the wrong side. Where Changkyun’s cheerful _Hyungie!_ would be is a low, heated _sweetheart_. It’s all wrong. It’s so wrong. 

What the hell was he—

Hyungwon rips himself away from the guy, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, his fly undone and his hair tousled. His hands are shaking; his breaths are shallow. The stranger looks at Hyungwon with confusion. 

“What’s—“

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixing his garments haphazardly, “I’m so fucking sorry—“

“Wait—“

He dashes out the stall as quickly as possible, runs outside, tries his best to avoid anyone at all costs. It's pouring outside, he’s soaked, and he doesn’t know if the wetness on his cheeks is rainwater or his own constellations. 

Hyungwon thinks he is going mad.

_**[22:53] Im Changkyun:** it’s raining out. the stars look so nice. _

**

“How do you know if you love someone?”

Hyungwon ponders, watching the sunset he can no longer appreciate. 

“You just do.” _the same answer I gave you when we were little._

“That’s not very helpful.”

“No.” _because in reality, love is vile, and I don’t want you to know that._

“I don’t know if I love Jihyeon.”

“You do.” 

“How do you know?” _you must, otherwise I won’t be crying._

“Would you die for her?”

Changkyun flinches.

“What kind of question is that?”

“If certain situations arise, wherein you would have to die in order for her to live, would you die for her?”

“I-I guess I would…”

“Then you love her.”

“Can it really be that simple?”

“Yes.” _No._

Changkyun looks at Hyungwon from the side. 

“Who would you die for?”

 _You._ “I don’t know.”

“Find him soon, Hyungie.”

The water under him rustles in his eardrums. 

_I already have._ “Yeah.”

~*~*~

_**[23:41] Im Changkyun:** i wouldnt die for jihyeon _   
_**[23:41] Im Changkyun:** i think i would die for u _   
_**[23:50] Im Changkyun:** hyung? _   
_**[23:53] Im Changkyun:** 3 MISSED VOICE CALLS _   
_**[00:07] Im Changkyun:** 7 MISSED VOICE CALLS _   
_**[00:19] Im Changkyun:** 11 MISSED VOICE CALLS _

**

The bridge is tall — Hyungwon feels the grain of the wooden posts on his fingertips. If he leans over, the rushing of the water below becomes more discernible. He watches it for some time: the monochrome waves crash against each other, so violent, such an uncontrolled chaos.

He wonders what it would feel like against his body.

He raises one feet over the wood, and then the next. He is sitting on the railing — feet dangling above the rushing water. His shoelaces sway with the wind. So close, perhaps this is what he wants.

No more pain. No more crying. Peace.

Oh, and the water looks so inviting, as if she’s got arms that are outstretched to welcome him, to embrace him. Perhaps it would be a warm embrace — like those that he shared with Changkyun in his childhood.

His eyes burn, and he lets the tears fall. 

Hyungwon stands up. If he hugs the water, there will be no more suffering. Changkyun will be happy with Jihyeon, and Hyungwon will be... he will be—

Hyungwon will be free.

No more Changkyun. No more stupid feelings. Peace.

His fingers drum on the railing. Perhaps once he’s fallen he will grow wings. Perhaps then he could rise to the sky, then he would be able to watch over Changkyun.

Yes.

No more loving Changkyun — just watching over him. Like he was meant to do. Like all good best friends are supposed to do. 

This is it. His right foot leaves the bottom of the bridge. The water clashes madly, as if she is excited for Hyungwon to fall into her arms — Hyungwon smiles. A little maniacal grin. 

_Goodbye, Kkukkung. Hyungie promises he’ll watch over you._

No more Changkyun. No more love. 

So close. So, so close — his other foot leaves the bridge—

Hyungwon closes his eyes—

And then his eyes fly open as a pair of strong arms grab him from behind.

“You fucking _idiot_ _!_ ”

Hyungwon’s brain clears of its fog. What on earth— where is he— 

Oh god. Oh god. He’s on a bridge — their bridge. He’s on the ledge. His heartbeat is erratic. He’s panting. What the hell—

A small twinkling sound from behind him — like small shards of glass being dropped on a ceramic floor. Like the jingling of little bells. Hyungwon gasps.

Changkyun. Is he — can he possibly—

“You… you- you almost jumped— you absolute idiot!”

Hyungwon turns around. His hand’s grip on the railing is so tight that his knuckles are white. His hearing is still filled with the rushing of the waves underneath them, but somehow Changkyun’s tears are so astonishingly clear in his hearing.

And. And Changkyun is crying — black stars — oh god, _oh god—_

“It’s me. You stupid piece of shit. It’s me and you never fucking told me.”

So many explanations required. So many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to ask. So many words left unspoken. And yet. And yet—

Hyungwon kisses him.

_I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, Iloveyou—_

_You love me._

And then the world around him explodes with color — the railing of the bridge is an auburn red, the streetlamp beside him glows a warm orange, the sky gains its blue once more, and from his peripheral vision he sees Changkyun’s brunet hair that he hasn’t been able to see in so, so long

Hyungwon closes his eyes, and just _feels_.

It occurs to him, then, in a startling moment of pristine clarity, that _this_ is what it feels like to fly; to have your heart soar so high that it feels like your entire being is being lifted up to the sky with a pair of feathery wings.

 _Just like the seagulls_ , he thinks, as he grips Changkyun’s jaw with one hand.

**

“You actually did.”

“Mm.”

Changkyun runs his hand across the lid of one of the jars.

“I asked you to collect the stars, and you actually did.”

Hyungwon stays silent.

Changkyun looks at him with a pained expression.

“There is no way I can repay you.”

“That’s alright.” _You’ve already done that._

“It’s not alright.”

“It is.” _Having you is enough for me._

He is then enveloped in an embrace; so familiar, and yet so new.

Hyungwon cries, but his tears are clear.

> _How long will I love you_   
>  _As long as stars are above you_

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> a songfic! yay?
> 
> when one of my friends sent me that tweet about this AU so many plotlines flooded my brain kkk. i mean come on theres is just so much angst potential from this. kudos to the japanese translators who brought it to attention.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading this. i certainly enjoyed writing it, though each time hw suffers i suffer a little too lol.
> 
> anyways, how are you? i hope you're doing well. go treat yourself to a nice movie/meal/book/workout/game!! please stay healthy and happy~
> 
> i think i'm on a WIP finishing spree lolol. let's hope this lasts.
> 
> thank you so much for reading. your kudos and comments are all stored in little glass bottles in my brain. do sound off. i feed on your tears/anger/love uwu


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